Of Lily and James
by nottellingu
Summary: All's fair in love and war. But love and war are not fair to each other and innocents get caught in the carnage. Such was the sad plight of Lily and James. Their time together was short, tragically short. And yet in that short span of time, they loved more than others do in entire lifetimes. A boy and a girl and a love so powerful, it was destined to end a war.
1. Foreword

**A/N:** I've had this idea for years and have finally gotten round to writing it. It's the traditionally cliched jily epic that mostly conforms to canon. Some widely accepted headcanons and my own headcanons have been incorporated into the story. Anyway, let's tuck in.

 **Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement is intended. All rights go to JK Rowling. This disclaimer is binding for the upcoming chapters too. (Writing a new disclaimer each time is tedious.)

* * *

 **Foreword**

All's fair in love and war. But love and war are not fair to each other and innocents get caught in the carnage.

Such was the sad plight of Lily and James. Their time together was short, tragically short. And yet in that short span of time, they loved more than others do in entire lifetimes.

For she had more love in her little finger than most possess in their whole body.

For he was fiercely devoted to those he loved and cared for.

For her kindness was her most laudable trait.

For he was able to make everyone around him smile.

For she had faith and hope that anything that broke could also be fixed.

For he had dreams and wishes of only happiness and nothing more.

For she believed that every story has a happy ending and if it didn't, then it simply wasn't the end.

And so, their story was eternal.

A boy and a girl and a love so powerful, it was destined to end a war.

* * *

 **A/N:** Head over to the first chapter.


	2. Of Weddings and Ballroom Lessons

1\. **Of Weddings and Ballroom Lessons**

It was a perfect day for a wedding. It was autumn and the ground was covered in yellow, orange and red leaves. The gazebo stood serenely against the pale blue sky in all its rustic charm, its white paint peeling off.

In the gazebo, a little girl bounced around on the balls of her feet. She seemed tinier than she actually was, engulfed by her father's black coat. She was smiling, showing off the hole in her mouth. She'd recently lost her tooth. She smiled at her elder sister as she walked up to the gazebo- the picture of poise and grace.

Her sister, Petunia Evans, was taller and skinnier while Lily – for that was the little girl's name – was short and her body was chubby due to the baby fat little kids often possess. While Petunia's hair was parted in neat blonde pigtails and her white dress was spotless, Lily's dark red hair blew in fiery curls and the overalls she donned under her coat had jam stains. Petunia was the calm and collected princess while Lily was the excitable and vibrant best friend.

But all their differences did not matter because today they were going to get married. Petunia placed the bouquet of half wilted flowers in the care of one of the countless teddy bears present to witness the ceremony. She stood opposite to Lily and they took each other's hand.

The girls dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Lily, s-stop l-laughing," Petunia choked out. "We need t-to exchange our r-rings!"

"Okay, Tuney," Lily agreed. Lily doted on her elder sister. At nine years, Petunia was only two years elder to Lily. But in Lily's eyes anything Petunia said was the way of the universe.

"You first," Petunia urged Lily. Lily took out a ring from the front pocket of her overalls. The ring was made of plastic and where a diamond should have been, a piece of candy was fitted. It was grape flavoured, Petunia's favourite.

Lily slipped the ring on Petunia's long, thin finger, giggling all the way. The ring was loose.

Next Petunia withdrew a ring similar to the one Lily had placed on her finger. The only difference was the candy in the centre was red and strawberry flavoured. Their father, Andrew Evans, had bought them the candy pop rings at the town fair they had attended the night before.

Petunia lifted Lily's hand and slid the ring on.

The two girls brought their faces closer and closer to each other. Their lips met swiftly with a resounding smack and they parted just as quickly. They were married! They giggled with delight.

"Let's go have cake," Lily said. One of her main motivations to get married was to eat yummy cake.

"Yes!" agreed Petunia. Though Petunia hadn't got married for the sole purpose of eating cake, she couldn't say no, could she? It was _cake_.

They grabbed their stuffed toys – three in Lily's arms and five in Petunia's arms – and they ran back to the house.

"First person to reach back gets the bigger slice of cake!" Lily yelled as she had a lead.

"Hey!" Petunia's shouts of protests could be heard behind Lily. Petunia ran faster till the two girls were neck in neck.

They burst in through the kitchen door, laughing wildly and threw their stuffed toys, letting it fall wherever gravity wished. Lily ran into her mother, Juliana Evans, and Petunia crashed into Lily.

"Whoa there, go any faster and you'll reach the speed of light," Mrs. Evans said. She put out a hand to steady her two children, who were flushed and exhilarated from all the running.

"Mummy! Mummy! I want the bigger slice of cake!" Lily cried. "I reached here first."

"Did not!" Petunia insisted.

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did no -"

"Alright, alright," Mrs. Evans was laughing at their antics. "You'll _both_ get a big slice of cake, okay?"

They grinned and nodded their heads enthusiastically.

Mrs. Evans laughed again. "C'mon. You can help me with the frosting. But first- Lily, go keep away Daddy's coat. He won't be happy if you get frosting all over it."

Lily was happy to oblige if it meant that she could have cake faster. Lily slipped off her father's coat and put it back in the closet in her parents' room. When she got back to kitchen, Mrs. Evans and Petunia were slathering dubious amounts of frosting on the cake. Lily sneaked up behind them and snatched the bowl. She ran around, licking frosting from the bowl, amidst shouts of 'Lily!' and 'Give it here!'

At last, Mrs. Evans caught her daughter around the waist and picked her clean off the floor.

"My little nugget, think you can steal the frosting bowl, do you?" Mrs. Evans nuzzled Lily's nose, hugging her close. Lily giggled in delight. Petunia came up behind them and smeared frosting over the two of them. Mrs. Evans and Lily shared a look. Without a word, they grabbed Petunia and rubbed their cheeks against her cheeks. Petunia squealed and tried to run away but the other two were having none of it.

Several minutes later, Petunia and Lily were cleaned up and seated around the table and Mrs. Evans was serving them slices of vanilla cake. She too cut out a small piece for herself – she was watching her figure – and sat opposite to the girls. She watched as they happily ate cake, their spoons clinking against the plate.

"So what were the two of you up to outside?" Mrs. Evans asked.

"We got married," Petunia said matter-of-factly.

"Is that so?" An amused smile was playing on Mrs. Evans's lip

"Mhm," Lily agreed. She held up her hand to show her pop ring.

Mrs. Evans smiled.

"Then what shall your future husbands do?"

"We're not getting married to boys." Lily made a face. "They have cooties."

"Yeah," Petunia agreed.

"But Tuney doesn't think Samuel has cooties." Lily smiled mischievously, slyly glancing up at her sister. Petunia was blushing furiously.

"Samuel? Who's that?" Mrs. Evans asked.

"Petunia's boyfriend."

"He is _not_ my boyfriend." Petunia's voice became high pitched and breathless.

"Oh yeah? Then why do you two hold hands and walk around?"

Petunia flushed even more. "We don't hold hands. We just . . . walk," Petunia finished lamely.

Sensing her elder daughter's discomfort, Mrs. Evans decided to change the topic.

"Have you two finished your homework? You've got school tomorrow."

Petunia nodded but at the mention of school, Lily's face fell. Mrs. Evans noticed.

"What's wrong, Lily?"

Lily didn't answer her. Instead she avoided her mother's eyes and instead looked at the china cabinet as if she were seeing it for the first time.

"Lily's being teased at school." It was Petunia who spoke up.

"Teased?! Lily, is that true?" Mrs. Evans looked startled.

Lily reluctantly met her mother's gaze and nodded miserably.

"Those meanie boys say my head looks like it's on fire. They're not even clever about it." She looked down sadly at the table. "It's always the same thing every day."

"Don't mind them. They're just jealous of your gorgeous red hair."

"You think so?" Lily peeked at her mother shyly.

"I know so," Mrs. Evans reassured her. "In fact, sometimes even Tuney says that she wishes she had hair like yours."

"Wha-" Petunia was completely shocked by the remark but one sharp look from Mrs. Evans silenced any of Petunia's objections.

"Mhm," said Petunia, putting on a sickly sweet smile. Lily brightened at Petunia's admission, oblivious to the obvious untruth in that one syllable.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Evans got up to see who it was.

"Good Evening, Evans family," a voice boomed from the doorway. Petunia and Lily ran to meet the tall man in a brown coat. They barrelled into him with shouts of "Daddy!"

The man threw aside his briefcase and crouched to wrap his arms around his two daughters in a warm hug.

Andrew Evans was a tall man who was still gangly like a teenager despite his age. He used to have the dark red hair that Lily had inherited but now his hair was thinning and he had a receding hairline. He looked far younger than he was. His eyes crinkled when he smiled and that made him trusted by all.

Petunia was the first to remove herself from the hug. "So. . . What did you bring me?"

Mr. Evans laughed that deep laugh of his, punctuated by inelegant snorts.

"That's what the hugs were for?"

Petunia just grinned.

Lily threw her arms around her kneeling father once more and kissed him on his cheek. "I'm happy you're home, Daddy."

"Thank you, my sweet. At least someone cares." He reciprocated Lily's kiss.

"But Daddy," Petunia whined. "I love you too."

Mr. Evans laughed and Mrs. Evans, who had been watching this whole exchange silently, joined him. He gestured for one of the girls to bring him his briefcase.

Petunia rushed back to Mr. Evans's side with the briefcase. He took it from her with a "Thanks". Both girls craned their necks to see what he was digging out of the bag.

"No peeking," he scolded. He extracted two tiny, fluffy teddy bears, handing one each to them. The sisters were delighted.

Mr. Evans worked as the manager of a toy factory and, quite often, spoiled his girls with such gifts. All the same, they were always grateful for what he brought them. They tackled him in yet another fierce hug, their "Thank you"s and "You're the best, Daddy"s muffled in his peach dress shirt.

The rest of the evening passed by relatively uneventfully – they ate a dinner of mashed potato with gravy and steak, watched a bit of telly, and then Mrs. Evans tucked in the two girls while Mr. Evans told them a bedtime story involving dragons, florists, petunias and lilies.

* * *

James Potter was not happy, no siree. He was downright upset. His new dress robes made his body itch in uncomfortable places, his fancy shoes were biting his feet off and cutting off his circulation, his jet black hair had been gelled back with copious amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. But worst of all, his mother, Euphemia Potter had dragged him out for _ballroom dance lessons_. Bleh.

Mrs. Potter had a firm hand on his son in fear of him running off, which was exactly what he had been trying to do.

"Now James, be a good boy and do as Madame Atwood tells you. She is a fine teacher and you _will_ be expected to dance at Constance Griggs' birthday party."

James didn't reply; he only made a face. Mrs. Potter flicked his nose lightly and kissed it. "If you do this, I'll make sure Daddy gets you a new Quidditch set."

James was interested by this offer. Endure three hours of waltzing and get a spanking new Quidditch set in exchange? Seemed reasonable enough.

"Okay, Mum," James agreed. Mrs. Potter was pleased to have gotten through to him. She kissed his cheek fondly. "Daddy will be here by 12 o' clock to pick you up. Try not to set anything on fire like last time."

James grinned at the memory. The first time he had been forced to go for dance lessons, Madame Atwood had made him dance with her to set an example for the others. He tripped over her big feet and the other snooty little kids laughed at him. Furious, he had made flames appear in the dance studio and in minutes the place was on fire. It just so happens that the studio had been renovated and reopened just a week ago.

Madame Atwood approached the mother-son duo. When she realised who it was, her thin lips curled.

"Ah, it iz you," Madame Atwood's heavy French accent betrayed the contempt she felt for the seven year old in front of her.

"Good Morning, Madame Atwood," Mrs. Potter greeted her cheerfully.

 _Good_ Morning? Ha! The idea was laughable. For Madame Atwood, anything that could have been good about her morning had turned sour at the sight of the scrawny, black-haired boy in front of her. For James, the only reason he wasn't throwing a tantrum right then was the prospect of new Quidditch gear.

"Bonjour, Mrs. Potter." Madame Atwood greeted her with a mawkish smile plastered to her face. "James." She did a poor job of hiding the sneer in her words. She turned to look at James and boy, if looks could kill, James would have been dead thrice over and then some.

James beamed at her, half delighted and half scared that she remembered her. He would have to charm the ridiculous dancing shoes off her feet if he wanted that Quidditch set. Time to get to work.

"Bonjour, Madame Atwood," James said with a ridiculous grin, one which may even be described as sycophantic. He pronounced his 'r's in the same posh tone as an aristocratic French man.

"I see you have been practizing your French," she said, the hostility in her tone slowly fading away. She was one of those people who believed their language and culture was the most important in the world.

Mrs. Potter rested her hands on her son's shoulder. "Yes, we have a tutor coming 'round every Thursday." She looked down at her son with pride. "Monsieur Dupont says James is just a natural."

It was no secret that Mrs. Potter doted on her son just like any other mother. But Mrs. Potter had just a tad more patience for all his mischief than she should have. James' parents, Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, were quite old - in their forties - and it seemed like they would never be able to have a child. And along came James. They left no stone unturned for his happiness and the end result was a spoilt yet amicable boy who grew on just about anyone.

"J'adore apprendre Français. Il est un très belle langue. Comme vous. "

'Not even eight years old and he's making middle aged ladies blush. At this rate I'll be beating the girls off with a beater's bat,' mused Mrs. Potter, for there stood Madame Atwood, blushing like a third year who had just been hit on by the dashing seventh year heartthrob.

Madame Atwood also seemed angry with herself for letting this little boy throw her off. With her flushed cheeks, wide eyes and flaring nostrils, she was a sight to behold in her tight ballerina bun.

"Merci," she said stiffly to James. She addressed Mrs. Potter, "Classes will end by twelve. A guardian must be present to pick up ze student." She glided away gracefully to meet another mother-daughter duo that had walked in.

Mrs. Potter knelt in front of her son to reach his eye level. "Be good," she stressed, her brown eyes boring into his lighter hazel eyes.

"I will," James nodded earnestly. But Mrs. Potter wasn't fooled. She raised her eyebrows at him skeptically. He made his eyes wider and brimming with innocence . She sighed. "Just don't cause trouble." She got up and said goodbye. With one last wave, she apparated, her dark grey Ministry robes billowing around her ankles.

"Bonjour." Madame Atwood clapped her hands to gain the attention of the children. "Pleaze choose a partner and stand in a row in front of ze mirror."

The children were quick to do as told, the boys and girls pairing off as quickly as possible and seeking familiar faces. Before James had moved three inches, everyone had found a partner except for a chubby, brunette boy who he recognized as Frank Longbottom.

James exhaled noisily. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

James had had enough. A Quidditch set wasn't worth the torture wrongly dubbed as dance lessons.

The supposedly soothing orchestral music playing from the old recorder in the corner was giving him a headache. His feet hurt, not just because of his shoes but because Frank had made routine of stepping on them every three minutes.

He had nothing against Frank. James had been over to his house a fair number of times. He had an amazing collection of Chocolate Frog Cards. His Mum was a bit scary with her peculiar fashion sense. But James liked Frank nonetheless.

"Madame Atwood, how much longer do we have to do this?" They had been practicing the same basic waltz step for what felt like centuries to James.

"It haz only been five minutes since you last asked, Mr. Potter," she answered huffily. "You must keep practizing till you ar' perfect."

Only five minutes? Surely Madame Atwood must be lying. There was no way he had only been doing this for five minutes.

"I already learnt the step properly, Madame Atwood," a boy with ebony black hair and grey eyes said haughtily. He twirled the blonde in his arms effortlessly.

"Very good, Mr. Black."

The boy smirked at James and James stuck his tongue out at him in retaliation. He started twirling Frank vigorously in his arms. The boy copied his movements. Soon it became a fully fledged competition as to who could twirl their partner the fastest without being caught by Madame Atwood. Both their respective partners were out of breath and dizzy but didn't dare open their mouth to complain.

While Madame Atwood was preoccupied helping a stocky boy identify his left foot from his right foot, the boys started twirling their partners at each other till at last the four of them crashed into the huge mirror, shattering it into a million pieces.

"Mon Dieu!" cried Madame Atwood. She started rambling angrily in French, too fast for James to understand what she was saying but he suspected they were foul words.

"Who iz responsible for zis atrozity?!" Her eyes were deranged and wisps of hair escaped her tight ballerina bun as she frantically turned her head in every direction. All the children pointed at James and the boy.

The two black haired boys met each other's eyes, smiled and nodded at each other, understanding it as the universal gesture of respect.

At that moment, parents apparated into the doorway. They were stunned to find the four children standing in the middle of glass shards. There was a circle around them that was completely devoid of glass as though an invisible shield had protected them.

A plump lady wearing bottle green robes trimmed with fur rushed to the quartet, her wand out and her bright red handbag slipping off her shoulder. The kids were terrified. It was only an accident after all.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_." The lady, who James recognized as Mrs. Longbottom, cast the levitation charm, levitated the children out of the wreckage with a swish and flick of her long wand. She set them down in the opposite corner of the room.

"FRANK!" she bellowed. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" The other three took several steps back from the boy in question, or rather in line of fire.

"Mum," Frank squeaked. "It wasn't me. I swear, I was just-" But Mrs. Longbottom never heard the rest. She dragged Frank away by the elbow, lecturing him on the importance of proper behaviour in order to gain respect and reverence in the society. She did not notice him tugging at her robes or his cries that it wasn't his fault as fat tears rolled down his chubby cheeks.

It was when James felt a light tapping on his shoulder that he tore his gaze away from the hilarious scene created by Frank and his mother. There stood Mr. Potter, in impeccable robes and perfectly coiffed hair, looking none too pleased. The other two children had been carted off by their respective parents - one being scolded and the other being consoled.

With his tall stature and broad shoulders, Mr. Potter was plenty intimidating. When paired with thinned lips and his stern expression, it brought to one's mind a sense of impending doom.

"Well," Mr. Potter prompted. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

James gulped nervously. His father was not a strict disciplinarian but he did not take kindly to disobedience when James had been warned once before.

James was saved from having to reply when Madame Atwood stampeded over to them.

"Je ne sais pas what to do with this boy. Il est très méchant. Mon studio," she wailed. She was so upset that she was mixing languages. "Zis is ze second time zis has happened. Je n'ai pas assez d'argent pour réparer mon studio. I have jus' reopened."

"Madame Atwood, calmez-vous,"Mr. Potter said in soft soothing tones. "On the behalf of my son, I apologise." He paused to look at said son. James had the decency to hang his head in shame. What the two adults did not know was that he was lamenting the loss of a new Quidditch set.

"I will personally cover all the expenses you require to fix the studio," he promised.

Madame Atwood visibly relaxed at his statement. "Merci. But you must know that I will not be able to teach James again. He has hereby been banned from my studio." Madame Atwood regarded James with an intense loathing that should never have been directed towards a seven year old.

James squirmed uncomfortably, instinctively edging closer to his father.

"Of course, I understand." Mr. Potter set his hands on James' shoulder and began steering him to the fireplace. "I shall owl you the details of our transaction."

Madame Atwood nodded.

As James flooed out of the studio, green flames licking his sides creating an odd sensation, his spirits lifted infinitesimally as he realised that this would be the last time he ever had to set foot in this wretched place.

When both of the Potters were standing in the foyer of the Potter Manor, they were greeted by a livid Mrs. Potter. James brushed the soot off his robes as he braced himself for the hurricane that was about to blow in.

"What did I tell you?" Mrs. Potter began. Mr. Potter slowly joined his wife and together they looked like two parents on a mission to set their wayward son on the right path.

"Not to set the place on fire?" James offered apologetically.

"That doesn't mean you break her mirrors. Merlin, James. I thought you would know better by now." Mrs. Potter sounded tired.

"I didn't mean to. It was an accident." James said in a small voice. He scuffed his shoes against the polished floors which he could he see his reflection in. The hair that his mother had combed neatly for him in the morning was sticking up.

"We know that it was an accident James but we want you to be more careful." Mr. Potter could see that James did regret his actions. "It's for your own safety."

James nodded and this time he truly hung his head in shame. It had been funny when it was Madame Atwood telling him off. But James did not enjoy disappointing his parents.

"Does this mean I won't be getting new Quidditch gear?"

Both his parents laughed.

"You'll get your Quidditch gear," Mr. Potter said.

"Monty!" Mrs. Potter admonished. "Remember when we talked about setting boundaries?"

"Right, Effie." Most people called Mrs. Potter Mia as Euphemia was a long name. Only Mr. Potter called her Effie.

Mr. Potter cleared his throat and tried again, "We'll see about the Quidditch gear. You have to behave well."

If Mr. Potter said we'll see, James was definitely getting a Quidditch set. All in all, not a bad day. Not a bad day at all.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you have it. The first chapter. So um, I know that there are a lot of jily epics out there and I know that there are so many that will be way better than this. But I get jily feels all the time and no matter how many fics I read it's always different from how I imagine jily to be. So I decided to do this, just for my satisfaction. One thing that irks me is that majority of the fics start at sixth or seventh year and we don't get to see some of the important moments like the forming of the marauders, Lily's first classes and such. I plan on adding that too.

As for updates, you're getting them as I'm writing and editing them. Right now, I'm on my summer break so the updates may come weekly or something (I'm possibly lying) but I make no promises.

Lastly, I hope you have as much fun as I have writing it. It's only been one chapter and I'm lovin' it. ;)

If you have any suggestions, questions, comments etc. drop me a review. Also reviewing let's me know what I'm doing wrong and then I can fix it. A reveiw also makes me smile so. . . ball's in your court.


	3. Of Violets and Cleansweeps

2\. **Of Violets and Broomsticks**

"You should try the hot pink," Bridget Harmon said, her own lips coated in a glossy ruby red.

Bridget Harmon was Lily's best friend since nursery. They had both wanted to play with the same purple bunny with wonky ears and black button eyes. Naturally a fight had ensued. Their young and sweet teacher, Mrs. Lamb, had told them that it would be way more fun if the two of them played _together_. The girls had stared at Mrs. Lamb as though she had revealed the secrets of the universe and played House. Since that day they were inseparable.

"Okay," Lily giggled and reached for the hot pink lipstick. She puckered her lips and applied the shocking colour with as much precision as a nine year old could muster, watching her reflection in Mrs. Harmon's vanity mirror.

Lily was at Bridget's house, more specifically in Mr. and Mrs. Harmon's bedroom.

Cokeworth was a rather dreary place to grow up. The industrial town was grey and each house was almost identical, its red bricks becoming grey due to the pollution. In this drab town, Mrs. Harmon boasted of the finest vanity mirror Lily had ever seen in her entire life. The girls often spend many afternoon trying on her various lipsticks and rouges. (No pearls though, each family owned one string of pearls if that.)

Lily and Bridget turned to each other to assess their appearance. They burst out in peals of laughter. The hot pink clashed horribly with her auburn hair. The peach rouge on her cheeks added to the effect. The red lipstick fell flat on Bridget's dark complexion and unruly mass of black ringlets.

"You look like a tomato from Mr. Hamilton's shop," squealed Bridget. Mr. Hamilton was the local greengrocer. Though his other fruits and vegetables turned out just fine, his tomatoes were always discoloured.

"What about you, Bri?" Lily retorted, clutching her side.

"I look pretty stupid, don't I?" Bridget asked, once their laughter had subsided.

Lily, ever the loyal friend, said, "No worse than me. Come on, let's wipe off this rubbish." They grabbed a wet towel and set to work.

"I wish I could change the colour of my hair," Lily commented idly.

"It's better than this." Bridget gestured to her own hair.

"At least Ellis doesn't tease you about your hair." Ellis Sutherland was a boy in Lily's class and her worst enemy. Ever since they met Ellis bullied her.

"Melissa Rogers told me Ellis likes you," claimed Bridget.

"He does not! He's just a big ol' bully." Lily scowled and threw her towel at Bridget. "And Melissa is a gossip."

"You're right. Melissa said that Anthony Hills lied about going to France but he brought back a French coin and all."

"She's a jealous baby."

"You know, Lily you shouldn't let Ellis get you. Whenever I tease you, you always tease me back."

"You're right but I don't want to hurt his feelings."

Bridget rolled her eyes at her. "Lily, he's hurting your feelings."

"You're right," Lily repeated. "Next time I won't keep quiet." Lily drew herself taller and seemed surer of herself.

"Atta girl." Bridget grinned. She did not know what it meant but she heard her big sister using it with her friends the other day and had been dying to try it out.

At that moment, Mrs. Harmon called, "Bridget!"

"What?" she shouted back.

"It's time to go visit Grandma." The Harmons always visited Mrs. Harmon's seventy year old mother every Sunday at four in the evening.

Bridget looked at Lily, "Wanna come with?"

"Nah, I promised Mummy that I'd be back by five. But tell her I said hi and bring me back some cookies." Bridget's grandmother made the best butter cookies; they melted in your mouth.

"Okay."

Lily made to leave and Bridget escorted her out. "Bye Mrs. Harmon," Lily said as she left.

"Goodbye Lily."

* * *

"Mummy, where are you?" Lily shouted to the house after she had searched everywhere for her. There was no answer. She ventured into Petunia's room.

Petunia was hunched over a small wooden desk doing what was presumably homework. Judging from her sour expression, it was probably maths. Numbers had never sat right with her; she preferred English because 'I've been speaking the language my entire life, what's to study?'

"Tuney, where's Mum?"

"Out back. I'll take you." Petunia jumped at the opportunity to put off doing her homework.

"What's she doing there?"

"She's arranging the floral arrangements for Mrs. Tipper's daughter's wedding."

In a town as polluted as Cokeworth, it was hard to grow anything. But Mrs. Evans managed it beautifully. She grew the most delicately pretty flowers.

Mrs. Evans had been a teacher for a short while at the local school and gardening had just been a hobby. One day she had arranged the flowers for a small wedding in town and it was absolutely stunning. Soon everyone approached her for flowers and she quit her job and started selling bouquets at home.

"Mummy!" Lily yelled.

"Down here," was Mrs. Evans muffled reply. And sure enough she was crouching, tending to weeds and dried plants.

"What are you doing?"

Mrs. Evans sat up straight, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She only managed to smear dirt on it.

"These flowers are drying. I tried everything but it just isn't working. I'm going to pull them out and plant new ones."

"Want some help?" Lily asked. Mrs. Evans nodded. Lily and Petunia headed to the shoddy garden shed and grabbed spades and rushed to assist their mother.

After an hour or so of toiling in the fresh dirt, they had cleared the flowerbed and the dried flowers lay to the side in a sad pile. Mrs. Evans went to fetch the new seeds and Petunia was pulling the weeds off her sundress.

Lily dragged her fingers through the dried flowers. They were violets and even dead, some of them possessed a rich shade of blue. She twirled once such flower between her thumb and forefinger so that all she could see was a blurry disc of blue. It appeared to Lily that the faster she twirled the flower, the brighter the colour seemed. That was odd.

She stopped twirling the flower and was flabbergasted to find a healthy, beautiful violet clasped in her hand.

"Tuney, come look," Lily called urgently to Lily.

"What is it, Lily? If it's another ladybird, then I'll. . ." Petunia slowly ambled to Lily. Lily showed her the flower.

"A violet? That's it?" Petunia stared at her incredulously.

Lily shook her head frantically and said, "No, you don't understand." Lily bent to pick up another dried flower and repeated the movement of twirling it between her fingers. Again, as she stopped a revived violet lay in her palm.

"How are you doing that?" Petunia stood, aghast. She picked her own flower and began twirling it just like Lily but nothing happened.

"I dunno," whispered Lily, half horrified, half excited.

Mrs. Evans appeared with the seeds.

"Mummy!" Petunia said. "Look what Lily's doing." Petunia turned to Lily. "Well? Go on, show her."

Hesitantly Lily picked up a third flower and began to repeat the same motions. This time nothing happened. Mrs. Evans absentmindedly patted her head and said, "That's nice, dear."

"No Mummy." Petunia thrust Lily's other violet's into Mrs. Evan's face. "Lily did this."

"Oh Lily, you found some good flowers. Good job."

"Mummy, I think I brought them back to life," Lily said in a small voice.

Mrs. Evans laughed and ruffled Lily's hair good naturedly. "Lily, you and your imagination."

"But Mummy, it's true," Petunia stomped indignantly.

"Nonsense, Petunia. Now go finish your homework. I will not allow you to stay up till all hours of the night to do it."

Petunia groaned in annoyance at her Mum's disbelief and huffed all the way to her room.

"Now, do you want to dig the holes or plant the seed?" Mrs. Evans addressed her younger daughter.

Lily felt queasy. "Mummy, I don't feel so good. If you don't mind, I'm going to lay down for a bit."

'Of course, my sweet. The heat must be getting to you." She touched Lily's cheek fondly and smiled kindly at her. Lily tried to return the smile but could not.

* * *

Later that night, when both Lily and Petunia were settled in their respective beds, the darkness of their shared bedroom enveloping them, Lily drew Petunia's attention to a thought that had been plaguing the girls since the evening.

"Hey Petunia?"

"Hm?"

"You don't think it was . . . magic. Do you?"

"Don't be silly, Lily. There's no such thing as magic." But as Petunia said it, the doubt lacing her voice was evident to both girls.

"You're right," Lily shook her head. "I shouldn't be thinking of such things."

But as both girls fell asleep, they thought of nothing but magic.

* * *

Come Monday morning, Lily felt sick to her stomach. Not only was there the mystery of Lily's newfound 'powers' but also today was the day that she had promised Bridget that she would stand up to Ellis.

Lily tried to convince her mother that she was coming down with something dangerous but Mrs. Evans was having none of it. She shooed her away with a 'School is important' lecture and a kiss.

So Lily did everything as slowly as she could. She brushed her teeth for a full two minutes. Dentists told her to do so _all the time_. She chewed each and every bite of her breakfast slowly and carefully. Proper digestion is very important. She walked at the pace of a snail with Petunia shouting at her every once in a while to hurry up.

But as her luck would have it, Lily reached ten whole minutes _before_ the final bell.

Lily trudged into the classroom, her backpack feeling like a sack of rocks on her back.

As she entered the classroom, a couple of girls smiled at her and she shakily smiled back.

Then she heard a cackle, the most evil cackle.

"Somebody get a bucket of water, Lily's head is on fire." This was followed by the same evil cackle that haunted Lily every morning.

A few people, mostly boys, tittered.

Lily turned to the voice. There stood Ellis Sutherland, his square glasses pushed so far up his nose they left an indent and his hair gelled with so much product that it was practically dripping.

Behind Ellis, she could see Bridget giving her a look that dared her to respond.

For a nine year old, Bridget gave a lot of tough love.

Taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves, Lily rebutted with the line she had thought of a long time ago.

"Somebody get Ellis a bucket of water too. Looks like he could use a good bath."

More people laughed and Ellis stared at her, surprised. His face coloured but he tipped his head toward her in respect.

Satisfaction coursed through her and behind Ellis, Bridget was grinning widely at her. All the butterflies in her stomach started doing a happy flutter and Lily felt light.

"Everybody settle down." The teacher had reached class and everyone rushed to their assigned seats.

The rest of the day carried on as usual but today Lily had won. Nothing could dampen her spirits.

* * *

"I'm bored, Blinky." James addressed the tiny house elf with comically large eyes.

Being an only child, James always found himself alone as both his parents had very important jobs. His only company remained the Potter house elf, Blinky.

"What can I does for you, Master Potter?"

James shrugged.

"Would you likes to play chess?"

"No." Blinky always let James win. He never presented a challenge like his Dad did.

"Would you likes to play Gobstones?"

"No."

"Would you likes to play Exploding Snaps?"

"No." His eyebrows _always_ got singed off.

"Then what does you want to do, Master Potter?"

James eyes shined with a mischievous glint. "Let's play Quidditch."

"But Master Potter, you is not allowed to play Quidditch, not withouts Master Potter."

"Oh come on, Blinky. I won't fall." The idea was simply preposterous. Him, the Quidditch extraordinaire, fall off his broom? His hair would sooner lie flat.

"But -"

"No buts. After all you're here to protect me." James smiled winningly at Blinky.

Blinky blinked. Blinky blinked again. Then he finally sighed. "As you wish."

"Yes!" And then James dashed to the broom cupboard to get his father's prized Cleansweep. He had used it as seeker for Gryffindor.

* * *

James flew high and low, fast and slow, enjoying the wind on his face, darting between the trees and letting out delighted whoops every once in awhile.

Blinky, on the other hand, looked minutes away from a nervous breakdown. His frantic calls for James to be careful were becoming more and more high-pitched.

James, of course, did not notice, just like he did not notice the owl in front of him. He swerved at the last minute to avoid getting a face full of talons. As a result he slid off the broom, hurtling to the ground.

Blinky screamed and apparated with a pop. In two seconds, he was back with Mr. Potter.

James had bounced off the ground completely unharmed and had landed on his bum.

"JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!"

"Yes?" James answered meekly.

"What were you thinking?" Mr. Potter was very cross, very cross indeed.

"I was bored?"

"You were bored." Mr. Potter repeated, a fire burning in his words. James winced. Now that he said it aloud, it seemed stupid.

"Blinky said I could." James defended himself weakly.

"That was poor judgement on his behalf." Blinky whimpered. Then he began to bawl his eyes as he hit his head repeatedly on a nearby tree.

"Bad Blinky! Bad Blinky!" He blubbered to himself.

Mr. Potter's tone softened. "Blinky, it wasn't your fault. Accidents happen."

"But I have failed you, Master. Blinky is a failure," he weeped hysterically as he continued to bang his head against the tree; Pieces of bark were getting embedded in his skin.

"Blinky, I order you to stop and go get yourself cleaned up."

"As you wish, Master," Blinky sniffled.

Mr. Potter turned to James who was scuffing his trainers against the dirt ground.

"And you, you're not playing Quidditch for one week."

James nodded miserably. And then after brief pause he said, "But I almost died, don't you think you can go easy on me?"

Mr. Potter laughed shortly. "Son, we're Gryffindors. We accept what we're given fearlessly."

James squared his narrow shoulders and straightened up. "Are you going back to work?"

"No."

"Good. Play chess with me."

* * *

 **A/N:** So this was a basically some background. And I think now would be a good time to mention that this fanfic is more like a documentary, like I'm documenting Jily's lives. I'm not totally satisfied since not much happens but it's important for character development. Next chapter we meet Severus Snape, Hogwarts letter, McGonagall and Diagon Alley. Fun.

Leave me review if you think it's good or boring. Personally I think it's boring.


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